Broken
by Anna-Salem
Summary: The blank stare seemed to rip her to shreds...[DylanThin Man]
1. Prologue

"Good morning, Angels."  
  
"Good morning, Charlie."  
  
Nat and Alex were bright-eyed, apparently rejoicing over the triumph of their latest case. Dylan half-heartedly tossed the semi-mysterious Charlie a greeting, her voice hoarse and throaty. Too much had happened the previous night.  
  
"Congratulations on overcoming Madison Lee, and retrieving the HALO rings. Wonderful job," his voice was comforting, if not a little impersonal over the speaker box. "Natalie, Alex, would you excuse us for a moment? I have something to tell Dylan..." There was a pause, some confusion, and finally Nat and Alex vacated their chairs and left, throwing a concerned look over their shoulders.  
  
Dylan stared intently at the small object perched upon the table. "Last night was a hard night for you, I know." Charlie hesitated. "I just wanted to let you know that we have the assassin in captivity, and we're holding him."  
  
Her mouth dropped open. Charlie continued to speak, but she didn't hear the words pouring from the box. He was alive? They had him? It was almost too much.  
  
"Where?" Was all Dylan could manage. 


	2. Afternoon Drive

Dylan borrowed the dark-blue convertible Audi, tossing her purse into the seat next to her. It was a sunny day, and she could use the feel of wind whipping through her hair.  
  
Instinctively, she reached up and gingerly touched the tiny bald patch on the back of her head. She still couldn't believe that he was alive, and that she hadn't had the guts to even check the alley after the fight. How long had he suffered down there? Impaled by his own sword, protecting her.  
  
Dylan slammed her hands on the steering wheel. How could she have been so heartless? She kept driving, more determined to get to the agency and see him. He was being held in an observation room at a secret headquarters in southern California. Charlie wouldn't mention why he was being kept, but Dylan suspected that it had something to do with the Knox case and his involvement.  
  
"That was before," Dylan whispered to the air that rushed past her head, "before he helped us, before he saved Max, before he saved me..."  
  
A car honked at her, and she realized that she'd been slowly edging into another lane. Deciding to keep her mind on driving, Dylan turned on the radio. "Love Song," by The Cure. She switched the station.  
  
Her mind wandered again. This time, she thought about all the short, strange encounters she had with the Thin Man. The party, when he'd been standing by, so aloof. In his pinstripes and intense stare, he looked like he belonged to a life of luxury, but the cross around his neck had told her otherwise. They'd followed him into the alley, and she'd smashed him in the ribs with a kick, sending him flying backwards. But she couldn't help study him, the way he moved when fighting, the fluid grace of him. And he was so slight, tall and thin, with sinewy muscles that she could feel even through her boot.  
  
That was when he'd stolen a lock of her hair, ripped it right out of her head with a primal scream. The look in his ice-blue eyes–a pure, intense, crazed kind of joy that overtook his body and forced the thin frame to shake uncontrollably. It had frightened her.  
  
And again, when she had been lured by Knox...Knox, she could almost kill herself over that one. But no, she was too proud to die over him. His stupid, cocky grin, and his, at the time, loveable eyes. Damn Knox, ruining her already destroyed self-esteem. Standing in that apartment, watching Knox rub himself all over Vivian, in nothing but a bed-sheet. How stupid could she have been?  
  
"Not stupid," she said aloud to no one, "Lonely. Just lonely."  
  
But Thin Man had been there, emerged from the shadows with a knowing look, admired her in her bed-sheet attire. He smoked the cigarette with caressing lips, savoring it. And she couldn't believe he worked for that rat Knox...all that time. A double dealer. An assassin. Her enemy.  
  
No, not an enemy. He didn't have enemies, or friends. He only had himself.  
  
"If that was the case, though, then why did he save Max?" She was talking to herself again, but she didn't care. Driving always gave her time to think, to gather her thoughts and put them in some kind of logical order. And for Dylan Saunders, that was terribly hard to do.  
  
He saved Max because it was a piece of his childhood, a fellow orphan. Maybe that's why he had saved Dylan. Orphans, the both of them. Alone. She smiled a little, thinking of his strong arms, frail-looking, but strong, supporting her on the roof-top. She'd stared deep into his eyes, as deep as she could without drowning. And he'd relaxed, allowed his lips to join hers in a fleeting moment of joy, and he was ripped away from her. Along with a lock of her hair.  
  
"Bastard," she grinned. When she saw him, she was going to demand her hair back. 


	3. Deathly Pale

There was a distinct hospital smell to the facility. Everything was white walls and stainless steel, florescent lights and pine-sol. Dylan shuddered; she hated the place.  
  
A tall, plain woman with pinned-up hair approached her. With a curt nod she introduced herself to Dylan. "Doctor Greene. You're Dylan Saunders?"  
  
Dylan nodded. Charlie said that he would be calling the facility to inform them of her visit. The doctor nodded again, opening a file.  
  
"This man, this assassin...he's dangerous?" She asked delicately, looking over the notes scribbled on a few sheets of paper.  
  
Dylan faltered. Was he? Was he dangerous? She wasn't sure. He'd switched sides before...what made her think that he wouldn't do it again?  
  
"I can't answer that. All I can say is that I don't think so."  
  
Doctor Greene's mouth became a straight line, as if she the answer came with grim acceptance. They would still have to take the utmost precautions with the assassin.  
  
"He's in this room," Doctor Greene showed her to a small room that was located in the middle of the bustling headquarters. Men and women in dark suits carried papers and evidence to and fro, not stopping to peer into the tiny room. The doctor waved her inside. "But Dylan, please be careful. We're locking the door behind you. There's a surveillance camera...I'll be watching."  
  
The door closed shut, startling her into a few steps forward. The room was subdued, not glaring and white like the rest of the facility. On the far wall was a hospital bed, and the Thin Man was lying, stretched to his full length, on his back. He was pale, and perfectly still. Dylan would have thought him dead if not for the subtle movement of his chest and the eerie beeping of the heart monitor.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she moved closer, willing her feet to move forward. At his bedside, she studied him. Thin Man..  
  
"No," she silently scolded herself, "It's Anthony."  
  
An IV trailed out of his left hand and attached to a bag of saline solution. There were bruises on his neck, and they seemed to descend down under his hospital pajamas. His right arm was broken. Gathering courage, Dylan carefully pulled away the thin blanket, and gently unbuttoned the front of his night-shirt. There was a lump of surgical gauze which she removed to reveal a long, jagged wound. It was about five inches long, with barbed-wire stitching poking through. They stitched him up from the inside out.  
  
She quickly placed the gauze back onto the wound, and buttoned him back up. When she looked at his face again, she could see the tiny, purplish veins that emerged from his temples. He had come extremely close to death.  
  
Dylan toyed with a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. The regimen part that she was so used to seeing was in disarray, so she carefully parted his hair and smoothed it to the sides. One piercing, blue- grey eye popped open. The other was swollen shut.  
  
He couldn't move, but if he could have, she knew that he would have jumped up and hurled himself out of the window, landing on his feet like a cat. There was just that looked of fear, a caged animal that would never get used to its surroundings. But when they locked eyes, and Dylan smiled slightly at him, Anthony's fears were replaced by an almost heart-breaking sadness. He wanted to be free again, but there was nothing she could do to help him. 


End file.
